Frozen Past Frozen Future
by JillTheCrazy1
Summary: She no longer has memories of her treasured past. Slowly gaining them back is what she wants. Creating new ones is now her destiny. Rated for Language and Violence. Not sure if the genre fits...may change.
1. Prologue

So, instead of the note I typed for this, I'll just have a short one here. I am no pro at medical knowledge nor technology. So if anybody would like to correct me in something said in this story, go right ahead and PM me : ).

Also, the Matti in this story has no relation to the one in my other story 'First Gig'. Don't try and make a connection because there is none.

* * *

Prologue

**True or False**

**MEMORIES**

* * *

A soft voice broke her clouded mind, colorful visions scattering from behind her eyes. She could not move. She decided to wait until the procedure finished so she would be able to move more freely. Why she knew to do that that, she did not know.

"…thankful we have a young body. Healthy, too."

"She took care of herself. Have you worked on 234, yet?"

"Ugh, his blood was black. I think he ended up being thrown out."

"Doesn't surprise me. I've been requesting to have him tossed for months. Must have kept him for some reason. Alright, inject the sedative before she gets up."

Through the fading, warm numbness, a sharp stab caused the girl's muscles to flex reactively. One of the men who spoke gave a grunt of disproval.

"Stick it in the other arm, then! We can't have her wake up on us!"

His partner snapped back, "I know! I was there when she destroyed thousands worth of equipment!"

A wave of comfort came upon her like a dark cozy blanket. Closing her eyes, she fell back asleep, blissfully unaware as one of the men fixed an IV to her vein.

* * *

Hot tears of shame fell from her cheeks as she curled up against the woman who held her. She felt so unwanted as she attempted to explain what upset her.

"*sniffsniff* Mommy…"

"Why are you crying?"

"I Don't Know!!"

The scorching summer sun only fueled her bad mood. The back of her shirt stuck to her pale skin. The echoing sound of young children at play filtered through her ears. She wanted to play kick ball.

"Honey, what is the matter?"

"Nikki won't let me *sniff* her group!!" She began to cry harder at the confession.

"Oh, honey…come on," She grasped the girl's tiny hand. "We're going home."

* * *

"Holy Crap! What is THAT?!" The fishing rod in her hands strained, then a man beside her burst out laughing, taking over for her.

"You caught a dog shark! Alright!!"

After settling the small animal on the dock, he lightly rested his foot on its tail. Carefully, he put his hand inside its mouth, shifting around to retrieve the hook caught in its jaw. Suddenly, pieces of crushed crab legs, water, and remnants from an unidentifiable creature spewed from the shark's mouth.

"Ewewewew! Why is he doing that?! Eeww!"

He laughed, "He's just scared." He cut the line, leaving the dissolvable hook in the animal's mouth. Carefully, he lifted it, sitting on the dock. He leaned over the edge, putting the shark back into the ocean waters. "Bye, Tough Guy!"

"I Need That Anesthetic Now!"

* * *

She swung her arms, ripping a hand full of cords that had been connected to various areas of her body. Several alarms sounded.

"Restrain Her! She's Hurting Herself!!"

"What About Us?!"

"What _About _You?!"

Two people held the girl down by her shoulders, shoving her against the icy metal table. Legs out of the question due to restraints, she snapped her jaws. Small bubbles of foam formed at the corner of her mouth. She tried to force a strong command for release, yet her voice just would not work. With a snarl, she cried out as something sharp penetrated into her tight muscle. Moments later, she involuntarily relaxed and closed her eyes.

"My God…"

"You haven't worked on this one?"

"Gee, you've been spoiled till now!"

"Why did she do that? What made her react so?"

"It's because…"

The voices faded as the girl thanked the darkness for taking her away to slumber.

* * *

She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus. A liquid substance submerged her face. Fear taking over, she started to squeal, squeezing her eyes shut. Weakly, her arms lifted, hands pressing against a thick sheet of glass above her. Her muscles were already worn down as she attempted to push after a few seconds.

Her lungs rapidly sucked air that was being supplied by a mask fitted over her nose and chin.

She felt so trapped, as though she were in a nailed coffin.

Suddenly, oxygen ceased to be supplied. She began choking. The thick liquid that surrounded her body flowed into her mouth, down her throat. Hurriedly, her hands covered her mouth then her nose as the gray water began to drown her.

A rush of icy air brushed the little amount of skin that peeked above the water. A rough pair of hands lifted her up. She barely heard the wavy voices around her as she gasped for air.

"…ok! You're gonna be ok! We're gonna take you out of here! Help is on the way!"

The girl swiftly turned. Despite the many tubes connected to her arms, she was prepared to swing and attack. Then, she saw his face.

He did not have a white coat. His hands were not covered by white gloves. He did not have the apathetic, unfeeling look in his eyes.

The man had a black combat suit on, a large automatic strapped to his shoulder. He had a patch over his left eye, the other still intact and a steel-like color. A grey mask protected his face from any harmful inhalation.

She looked around, trying to decipher what was going on around her.

Black dust clouded much of the room, chunks of debris scattered all over. Smashed lights hung from their sockets in the roof, causing the room to be filled with shifting shadows.

"…have to go. Someone will come to take care of you soon." The man let her go and started to walk away. She snatched his arm as her body sank in the tub. She struggled to move her deteriorated body out of the water, a sudden phobia of the liquid taking affect. The material of his armor was cold against her naked skin.

"No, you have to stay here," he ordered, "You're in danger if you move! Stay here and don't move! Someone will come to help you soon…"


	2. PRODUCTS

Guide:

'_Speech'_ – Verbally talking with cybercomm.

_Speech_ – Talking only through cybercomm.

'Speech' – Thoughts

"Speech" – Talking

* * *

**I**

**Trial and Error**

**PRODUCTS**

* * *

_Chief, can't we write these people off as wackos?_

_Absolutely not_, came the swift reply, _These people have what we're looking for. Continue your work on figuring out what that is! _Once the communication link ended, Batou heaved a sigh.

He was sitting in front a jittery older man. What was left of his hair was a snow white color. His skin was pale and dotted with chocolate colored age spots. He continually rubbed small puncture marks on his arms, as though he were cold.

From experience, Batou would have pegged this suspect as a drug addict. However, the tall tell sign of crumbled, yellowed teeth were not there. The old man's teeth were perfectly white and clean. A few seemed to be removed, his whitish gums disappearing back into his mouth. Though, the man was skinny and the small purple dots on his arms did make Batou suspicious.

"Alright, one more time, old man," the cyborg started, "For the record, tell me why you went to police." The man took a sip of water before speaking. He had already gone through one glass since his half hour interrogation.

"I-I found a police station and asked for help," he started, words hurried, "I've…been locked up in a hospital for…not sure how long. They did things to me…that I can't remember…well, I do remember some things…but my memory is awful…" He scratched his head, trying to label the images that flashed behind his eyes.

"Which hospital were you at?" Batou asked.

"Not sure…" he whispered after a moment, "Not sure…"

In a serious tone, Batou proposed, "This didn't happen to be a mental hospital, was it?" The old man shook his head, dull blue eyes narrowing.

"No! They did medical things to me!"

"What sort of medical things?"

"I-I don't know!" Frustrated, he tried to explain the strange events that strangled his brain. "They-They injected medicine…put me to sleep…opened me up like a pig, I remember that…I was always cold…so cold…they said I would last longer if I were cold…" He jumped, startled as a knock sounded on the door. Batou stood.

"Think about what you can remember a little harder. When I come back, I'll decide what we can do." The man nodded, resting his elbows on the table top, cradling his head.

Togusa waited for his partner out side the interrogation room. He held a folder in his hand at his side.

"Anything?" he asked. Batou shook his head.

"No. His story isn't changing though. It's pretty much the same every time." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Can't remember shit."

The field leader of Section 9 sighed, his expression telling Batou that he too was at a dead end. He opened up his notes and skimmed through them wearily.

It had been several months since the Solid State incident. The cases proceeding that had been nothing short of uneventful. Then, this interesting occurrence of strange victims began to surface. Many were found by police, wandering around the city lost and confused or harassing people. At first, these events had been under police, however, their claims fell under Section 9's forte once they were fully examined.

Each victim, the team found, had three factors in common. They all stated that they were abused in some way through the use of drugs. Each one had a peculiar medical treatment proven by the scars from incisions. Lastly, nearly all of the memories of where they came from or what happened to them is missing. Fragmented memories in their cyberbrains and a barrier maze that held what was left at the end remained. Those without a cyberbrain simply could not remember what had got them in such a delirious state.

"Nobody else has been able to find anything that could give us a clue as to what is going on," Togusa said, "If we don't find something soon, this case is going to go cold." Batou shrugged, leaning against the closed door.

"I've tried to crack this guy, but he seems pretty cracked already…"

"Have you noticed that it seems like they don't _want_ to talk to us?" Togusa asked, "Some of them have had their memories tampered with, but the ones who do not have any evidence of memory loss are trying to blow us off…or are too afraid to talk."

"They can try and fake us out as much as they want," Batou told him, "Either way, the person who is doing this to these people is going to be caught at some point. A few of them even remember going through wacky medical procedures for years."

"Which makes me wonder how long this has been going on under our noses…" Togusa groaned at his own words.

Batou watched his friend. Since Motoko Kusanagi rejoined Section 9 after her absence, the field commander had been given some more time to be with his family. He no longer was the only one who had been given all the work. Batou understood why he looked tired and almost disappointed. With such a bizarre case involving torture, Togusa once again lost his chance to be at home.

A heavy _thud_ suddenly broke their thoughts. They looked at one another, then Batou glanced through the peep slot in the door.

* * *

The team assembled in the strategy room two days later. The plan had been to discuss developments within the five 'victims' that were interviewed. However, two committed suicide, one ran away, and the remaining two died of severe malnutrition.

"So, basically, we're at a dead end," Azuma summarized, folding his arms behind his head, "Those people didn't give us a lot to go on to begin with."

"It was still our job to try and find out what happened to them," Togusa reminded quickly.

"All we know so far is that they were abused and possibly tortured in similar ways," Ishikawa said, scanning a paper in front of him, "But where they came from is still unknown. None of them had a piece of memory about what happened either, but could remember days from their childhood and so on. Not one of the addresses they gave us matched with any residency, either. It's like they just appeared out of nowhere."

"What about the two that committed suicide?" Togusa asked, "One of them had a cyberbrain."

"I think the Major was checking in with the Red Suits," the bearded veteran answered, "She said she would pick up their report."

"Hopefully, they can give us the answers we need," Togusa muttered, neatening his stack of work. He sat down in his seat before the forum. He glanced up as the door slid open.

The Major entered with a report in hand. She joined Togusa at the head of the lecture room. She opened up the folder she set on the table for him to speed read over.

"We've got something interesting from our boys in red," the Major announced, "Two of our victims had cyberbrains, one of whom committed suicide. A high amount of drugs were found in the body, some identified as being untested by the Ministry of Health. We're still waiting for the Ministry to get back to us on how those drugs could have been injected into our friend. When going over his cyberbrain, they found a tracking device in it."

"A tracking device?" Togusa repeated, confused.

"Yes," she said, "It was small and hidden well. However, it was still active and connected to the internal network of the brain via micromachines. So far, the Red Suits have been able to hold the channel the device was using for broadcast. Also, both our victims had a tattoo of a number on their sides. Numbers 104 and 287. Neither claim to have known one another during their interviews."

"They could have gotten it because of some cult or gang," Paz suggested, "That's the usual tradition when you join a yakuza."

The team watched as the blank wall screen displayed pictures of the markings in question from the autopsy. The numbers were then highlighted and described in a separate layered box.

"They don't look like anything gang related to me," Azuma observed, "They're just black numbers. Almost reminds me of when people brand animals, you know?" The Major rose an eyebrow. "I mean, if they were tortured, maybe someone numbered them for some reason. It _could_ be a cult that's doing all this."

"During the Holocaust, the Nazi's tattooed numbers on the captured in the concentration camps," Batou informed, "Perhaps there's something like that going on we don't know about."

"That's a good assumption. Ishikawa, I want you to take over for them and find where the link from the tracker can lead us. Paz, check around some tattoo shops and see if this number design is simply a trend or something more."

"Roger."

"Broma, see if you can give the Ministry of Health some help. It's better to find our information fast than to wait for them."

"Azuma," Togusa started, "Take someone with you and see if you can figure out where these people came from one more time. See if they had any family that could possibly help us."

"Again?" he grumbled. Togusa shot him a glare.

"It gives you something to do, doesn't it? Do your job!" The ex-detective stood with a sigh as the team began to exit the small room. "At least we have a lead now…" he said, "Though who knows how good it will turn out for us."

"If it is any comfort," the Major smirked, "My ghost is whispering to me…this will lead us somewhere…"

Togusa held a smile. It had been forever since he heard the phrase and for a moment sensed the presence of the old days.

* * *

UPDATE: Forgot something important near the end of this chapter. Heh heh, sorry!


End file.
